Wonders of the Wandering Mind
by Orlissa92
Summary: "She called a 'see you tomorrow' after Espo (because no, she just couldn't say 'night', because that was bland and uncreative, and 'see you tomorrow' held a promise for the future, and she was going to kill Castle for corrupting her subconscious)"


**Wonders of the Wandering Mind**

**A/N: This is my first Castle story – and my 50****th**** on this site altogether (the occasion somewhat calls for a celebration, doesn't it?). It is always kind of hard – terrifying – to get started in a new fandom. There's always a fear: will I be good enough? Can I offer my readers something worth reading? Can I make them laugh, cry, sigh? I have been reading Castle fanfictions for some months now, and I have to say: you guys have set a pretty high standard. I can only hope I can put a little something into the awesomeness which is this fandom.  
As for the one-shot itself: I started writing it sometime around January, in the middle of my exams. I churned out like a page, then amidst the stress and everything, I abandoned it. Then a few weeks ago I picked it up again. I tried to continue my original draft, but I just couldn't – so I threw it out, and started again, finding a new voice for the same plot. The one or two lectures on stream of consciousness I've had didn't help a bit. And so… this is the end product. No specific time set, but maybe around mid-fifth season, definitely before Kate became so cozy in the loft.  
Well, there's nothing left I have to say, only this: I hope you'll enjoy my little entrance to this fandom :)  
Oh, and special thanks to Rose-loves-Dimitri, who put up with me, encouraged me, and was the first reader of this story :)  
Rating: T  
Word Count: 4185  
Disclaimer: [Insert a witty text here that tells you I don't own **_**Castle**_**]**

* * *

Kate Beckett loved her job – it was her passion, her ultimate mission to help the victims' families and get the murderers behind bars, yet it was still safe to say that she hated the days like this, when the investigation went around in circles, always returning to its starting point. When no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get past the 'one step ahead, two steps backwards'-phase. When the murder board stubbornly remained devoid of any useful information. When she stayed at the precinct until the dead of the night, and still had nothing to show. When everything turned out to be a false lead or a red herring.

Oh, yes. _A red herring_.

She sighed at her own hopelessness and shook her head, burying her face in her hands, her elbows resting on her vic's phone records.

Why did everything have to remind him of Castle? (Don't answer it; it was rhetorical.) Castle, who drove her crazy the best and the worst possible ways, and who had been absent for two of her cases in a row now – which meant more than a week without him setting a foot inside the bullpen – because his deadline was breathing down on his neck, so he really had to make some progress on his newest novel and fast, he had said, if he didn't want to unleash Gina's wrath on himself. And he didn't, so, surprisingly, he had been staying at home actually writing. She had even seen its proof – he'd sent her teasers (mostly kinky one-liners, mind you) and even had let her read a whole chapter over his shoulder the other night.

Little things which, somehow, only made her miss him a little more.

Maybe this was the worst of all: before she met Castle (really, her life could be divided into this two periods: B.C. and A.C. – _Before Castle _and _Anno Castle_), days like this hadn't been this bad. They had been tedious, yes, and frustrating, but they hadn't made her want to stand on a cliff and scream until she lost her voice. Back then she still hadn't been spoiled by crazy, impossible theories, innuendos, cheeky comments and grande skim lattes. Back then she had been able to do her work without her unorthodox partner at her heels and remain fairly sane. And productive.

Yes, this bugged her, too: had Castle been there with her and the boys, they would have had a useable lead by now, she was sure. Or at least some crazy theory, that at first sounded all-over insane, but as they looked into it, it would have been proved to be fairly accurate. Because that's how Castle always helped to bring a case along. Because that's the way he was.

But why, oh why did she have to constantly think about him? Why couldn't she focus on her work without so much of her conscious filled with her boyfriend?

She was pathetic, really.

Sitting up straight, she tried to refocus on the phone records, but the lines started to blur together in front of her eyes, looking like long, black lines on the white sheet. She closed her eyes for a second and pinched the bridge of her nose. She was getting frustrated at her own ineffectiveness.

Opening her eyes she glanced at her watch; it was just after half past midnight, which meant that she was technically working for… oh, for nearly fifteen hours on this case without so much more than a coffee break (four coffee breaks, but who is counting?). And she should have been cutting down her overtime…

She looked over to the boys' desks – Ryan had left hours ago, claiming that he had to get home to Jenny, but promising to be in bright and early tomorrow, and Espo was just pulling on his coat. Feeling her gaze on him, he turned to her and shrugged, saying without words that there really was no point in staying – they'd done what they could for the night. Tomorrow – tomorrow they'd start again, now armed with ballistic and autopsy reports.

And Kate found herself agreeing with him.

Calling a 'see you tomorrow' after him (because no, she just couldn't say 'night', because that was bland and uncreative, and 'see you tomorrow' held a promise for the future, and she was going to kill Castle for corrupting her subconscious), she stashed away the phone records in her drawer and reached for her coat, getting ready to go home (and by 'home' she meant her own apartment, because it was crazy late, and there was no point in bothering him with going over, no matter how badly she was missing him.).

She would start over with a fresh mind tomorrow, she promised herself in the elevator on her way down to the parking garage. She would start afresh, and maybe even call Castle or meet up for a coffee with him in the morning just to ask for his insight.

…Not only because she was slowly going crazy without him. Absolutely not. She just wanted to close this case (and the sooner it was closed, the sooner could she spend some quality time with him. She missed having quality tome with him).

Although closing the case technically meant the same thing, but never mind.

She went even so far as contemplating of calling him as soon as she got home; it was late, true, but when he was in one of his writing-whirlwinds, he tended to pull all-nighters – she had learned it over the course of the last few months. But then again, she thought as she was climbing into her car, calling him at this time, even if he was awake, wouldn't do much good to her – other than hearing his voice (which would be pretty great at this point, too). When so preoccupied by Nikki and Rook, it was next to impossible to talk with him about anything other than his beloved characters.

There were times when even the prospect of sex didn't work.

So yes, she decided to call him in the morning, when she was less tired and more rational, and had a bigger chance of pulling him into the case (about which she would only feel a little guilty, given that he was the one who liked procrastinating). Not that it was an overly interesting one – frustrating, yes, without any usable leads for the time being, yes, but not really intriguing, or anything. Nothing really that could top his imaginary world of Nikki – nothing really Castle-favored.

Or Beckett-flavored?

Caskett-flavored – she was going to go with this one. (She might even tell him that she went so deep as using the little contracted pet name he'd come up with. Let him bask a bit in the light of his own creation.)

But really, what would he say about this case?, she pondered, trying to think with his head, while starting the engine. Of course, after he'd already pulled the obligatory CIA and mob hit theories. He would see something, something really useable in the case of this lawyer, who had been shot in his own office – the case which seemed like an empty canvas to her, splattered with blood.

Rain hit the hood and the windshield as soon as she rolled out of the garage. Fat, heavy drops tapped against the metal and glass, creating a wild tattoo of a rhythm, not very much unlike the way her heart would gallop during a chase or after sex. She turned on the wipes and tried not think about the second scenario.

Not that she was starved or desperate or anything.

Although it had been a couple of days…

Which was ridiculous, since she'd gone months without sex before Castle.

She shook her head, banishing these thoughts from her conscious. No way was she going to think about sex – amazing, frenetic, breathtaking sex – while driving in New York in the middle of the night, during a downpour.

But this didn't mean she was able to force her mind to pay complete and undivided attention to the road.

And after all, she knew the way like the back of her hand.

She tried to focus on other things – for example on the traffic, although it held nothing really interesting; either due to the hours or the weather or the combination of the two, the traffic was uncharacteristically light for New York, and it seemed that even the lights were in her favor that night, as she always seemed to arrive at them just as they turned green. And she didn't want to think about the case, not without Castle, not until morning, at least – her head was already so full of it, it felt suffocating, and frustrating, not being able to move forward. No – if she kept on thinking about it there would be no sleep for her tonight, and she really needed some time spent in REM-realm.

The swinging of the wipes was mesmerizing – the left-right, left-right movements captured her attention, acting almost like the pendulum of a fair magician.

It made her wonder what was going on in Drake's Magic Shop – as far as she knew, they were still in business, but she hadn't been there… well, since the Zalman Drake case, which was quite a long time ago. Why hadn't she? Really, she loved that place as a kid, and now she had a boyfriend who loved it as mush as she did, honestly, why hadn't they made a date of visiting the shop yet? It would surely be fun, and it also would be nice to see Edmund, too. And maybe, after the visit, she could bring out some ice cubes and…

She shivered at the thought.

Okay, was she really getting this desperate?

Alright, attention on the road, she scolded herself, although there wasn't much to pay attention to, really, but if she ended up crashing her police-issued car – not in a car chase, or by being pushed into the Hudson, but on the practically empty road in the middle of the night –, Gates sure as hell would skin her alive. And Castle – Castle would be unbearable, because even if she came out of it without a scratch, he wouldn't stop hovering, always asking if she was alright, if she was comfortable, did she want a Tylenol, a cup of tea, something to eat… Which is cute for a day or two, but then becomes annoying.

But, on the other hand, it'd mean that he'd abandon Nikki, who had been occupying much of his mental capacity recently, for a time being for her. It might be a little selfish to think this – and petty and silly, since when did grown women become jealous of fictional characters? –, but damn, was she missing him.

Alright, eyes on the road.

Heavens, was she tired. She desperately needed a hot bath and a good night's sleep, but not particularly in this order. And maybe even a throughout massage – she did have an annoying cricket in her neck and a dull, persistent ache in her lower back. But of course, for that she'd need somebody to actually give her a massage, which, again, led back to…

She groaned in frustration.

When had she become so hung up on this man?

Finally – _finally_ – she pulled off in front of her building, parked the car and killed the engine. Not having an umbrella with her – of course, why would she have one on her when she needed it? – the rain hit her as soon as she emerged from the car, the heavy, icy drops slipping beneath her collar. She cursed silently as she ran to the door, her hair and the shoulder of her coat dampening.

She pushed the door open in a haste, threw a quick, absent-minded greeting at the doorman, and headed to the elevator, the cogs in her mind never stopping for a moment. Okay, so now she couldn't pass the hot bath if she didn't want to get sick, but maybe would trade it for a shower, as it would take less time, and so she could crash sooner, she contemplated as she stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for her floor.

She wondered if she had any edible food that would pass for breakfast in her pantry, as she was searching for her keys in her bag. She had never been great at keeping her kitchen stocked – and yes, she did kinda have a Styrofoam temple under construction –, but at least she had been trying to pay attention to it since Castle had started staying over at her place – but it'd been, what? Maybe a week or so since he had stayed the night, so the chances of having anything other than expired muesli and moldy bread was rather slim. If only she had thought about it before going to the precinct that morning, she could have made a quick detour to the store, but no. Now a bearclaw procured along with her coffee in the morning would have to suffice, she though as she raised her key to slide it into her lock–

Only, it didn't fit.

Puzzled, she tried again. It was only the second failure of opening the door that had her snapping out of her internal monologue and take a good look at the door she was standing in front of.

Crimson paint. Metal décor. Small rectangular, inlaid windows.

How the hell it had happened, she had no idea, but somehow – most likely by the courtesy of her subconscious combined with exhaustion – she ended up, half-dead on her feet, damp from the rain, in the middle of the night, in front of Castle's apartment.

She let out an exasperated sigh and rested her forehead against the door.

And of course she didn't have a key. Why the hell didn't she have a key?

She stayed like that for a couple of moments, then fished her phone out from her pocket – there was no way she would go back to her car and drive to her own place, which would have meant another twenty-minute trip –, but she didn't want to ring the bell, either, not wanting to wake Martha or Alexis, in case the girl happened to be at home.

So she called Castle.

It took him four rings to pick it up, and when he did, she could hear the mixture of sleepiness, mild surprise and maybe some worry in his voice. Great, so he'd been sleeping.

"Kate?" he croaked, his voice rough with sleep. "'Verything alright?"

She sighed.

"I am in front of you door. Let me in?"

She heard something that could have been an agreeing groan, then the line went dead.

She leaned away from the door and slipped the phone back into her pocket. She hardly had time to push her wayward locks from her face when she heard some quiet shuffling, then a soft, metallic click as the lock was opened from the inside, and a moment later Castle – clad in sweats and a worn T-shirt, his hair mussed, eyelids half-mast – swung the door open for her.

"Well, nice to see you, detective," he said, leaning in and pressing a sloppy kiss to her lips. "Although I couldn't say I was expecting you tonight."

Something halfway between a whine and a moan escaped from her mouth.

"I wasn't planning on going here tonight, either," she said, stepping into the loft.

"Then why–" he started, but she didn't let him finish.

"I'm just gonna take a quick shower, and then meet you in the bed, if that's okay? I'm gonna pass out any minute." She was so not going to give him the satisfaction of letting him know that in her exhausted state her subconscious had played a trick on her and led her to his place instead of her own. She wouldn't be able to tolerate him gloating over it right now. She could, however, very much tolerate some cuddling once she got rid of the dirt of the day.

"Sure. Go ahead," he said, placing another kiss on her forehead, and then trotting back to the bedroom, leaving her to her own devices.

It was only minutes later under the stream of scalding hot water when she started thinking about what it could mean – what she could make it mean – that instead of her own bathtub, she was now in Castle's en suit bathroom, surrounded by his scent and his toiletries, and even his Bobba Fett sculpture (which she still had to convince him somehow to get rid of, because the bounty hunter was downright terrifying).

Yes, they were in a relationship (her subconscious here added a quiet _finally_). Yes, they hung out at each other's places a lot. Yes, she enjoyed spending time in the loft. Yes, they actually spent more time at his place than hers. Yes, in the last couple of months she, thinking about it, did spend more time at his place than at her own. But honestly, when did this place become so… home-y for her that her mind had to decide she needed to crash here instead of in her apartment?

She had always been careful not to rush anything in her relationships – let them run their course in the pace it was intended – at least in the pace she thought was intended. She had always paid attention to not to run ahead, to somehow keep a comfortable distance, staying in her comfort zone, which somehow always led to the end of her relationships. But it was only precaution, and thoughtfulness towards her partners. Only… maybe it wasn't that. It wasn't precaution, or not-pressuring. It was keeping one foot at the door as she had once told Castle.

The only difference being now that she had never been this… deep in a relationship before. She had never fallen this hard.

She had never been in love like this.

She let out a sigh and turned off the water.

It was out – here you go. She had never loved like this before. She had never come to the point in any of her previous relationships where her subconscious shifted her "home-point" from her place to his place.

She had wanted a "one and done" – maybe now she was getting it.

Maybe it was time to let go of all her crazy insecurities, her little freak-outs, and thoroughly enjoy it.

She definitely had to do that.

She stepped out of the shower cabin and reached for the towel, all the while smiling softly to herself. She felt so much… lighter. Like something had been lifted from her chest. And really, all she needed for feeling like this was accidentally ending up at the loft?

There were some PJs put out for her on the hamper – one of his old, soft-worn T-shirts, one he knew she loved to wear, and a pair of boxers. She hadn't even noticed when he had put them there. Something warm filled her from within – even in his half-unconscious, half-awake state, just after she had roused him in the middle of the night, he was still thoughtful enough to get her something to wear. Even though she knew he wouldn't mind if she slept naked. She pulled them on – somehow, even evidently freshly washed, they smelled faintly of him – and exited the bathroom.

The bedroom was dimly lit by a single small lamp standing on the bedside table on her side – undoubtedly left on by Castle, so she wouldn't stumble into anything. The man himself was lying on his back in the bed, eyes closed, seemingly asleep. She smiled at him, shaking her head – he was kind of adorable –, then folding down the covers on her side she climbed into the bed and turned the lamp off.

"Little spoon or big spoon?" She heard him whisper as soon as she pulled the duvet close to herself. Apparently, he wasn't asleep just yet.

Still, it took her a moment to process his words.

"Little."

Immediately, she felt the mattress rock as he turned to his side and snuggled close to her, the expanse of his front pressing to her back, his arm curling around her middle, his face resting so close to her neck that she could feel his breath move the fine little hairs on the nape of her neck. She immediately relaxed into his embrace, letting all the remaining tension go.

Maybe a minute or two later, just as she was dozing off, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder and said,

"Bottom left drawer of my desk, little metal box."

Kate frowned in confusion and tried to turn towards him, but only partially succeeded due to his grip on her waist.

"What?"

"That's where I keep the spare key. Take it in the morning, so the next time you _accidentally_ end up at my place in the middle of the night, you can simply let yourself in." He didn't even open his eyes, his voice was groggy, but she knew he meant it. She also knew he meant more in subtext – he always meant more in subtext –, but that he didn't want to pressure her.

But what if she wanted to be pressured? What if she wanted to leave the baby steps behind and take a leap?

She was done with insecurities and one foot at the door.

She exhaled and, using a little force, she turned around, so she could face him. She brushed her fingers along his cheek, gently coaxing his eyes open.

"Great. Maybe I could bring over a few more things, too?" she asked, biting her lip.

"Sure. Whatever you need."

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she leaned in and kissed him. He was surprisingly responsive despite of the hour.

"In this case, I have a few questions I think we need to sort out," she said once they broke the kiss. She looked into his eyes; he was listening. Good. "First of all, do you think you can make room for my shoes? And where could we hang my painting?"

His eyes widened a little, first because he apparently couldn't quite make out what she was referring to, then in surprise.

"You want to move in?"

She shrugged, like it was no big deal.

"Yeah, it's only logical, at least economically."

"I can't argue with that."

"And I kind of like this place. It has a character."

"It better do, I spent a small fortune on it."

"And I might be a little smitten with the owner, too."

"It's good to hear."

"And it would most likely solve the arriving at the wrong doorstep-thing."

"Agreed, provided it means that you don't start ending up at other guys' doorsteps."

"I definitely don't plan on doing that. You're handful enough."

"Good." He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. "But let's just be serious for a moment: do you really mean it? It's not just a haste decision made with an exhausted mind, one that you'll regret soon enough? Or forget by tomorrow morning?"

She didn't hesitate.

"No," she shook her head. "It's really what I want. To be honest," she smirked, "I think I have gotten a little addicted to you, Castle. Me getting here without even thinking about it might have been a withdrawal symptom. But don't be smug about it!"

"I won't," he promised quickly. They both knew he was lying. "Okay, I… Still, maybe it's not the best time to decide about it, don't you think? Maybe we should sleep on it," he said, pulling a little away, but keeping his hand on her waist.

Kate froze for a moment.

"But do you want me here?" she interjected. Up until then, she didn't even think about what he wanted. What if he didn't want to move together? What if now it was her who was pushing things forward they were not yet ready for?

"Of course I want you here! Every day and night!" he reassured her, his voice rising. "I just want you to make sure that this is what you want."

Oh. He did want her there, it wasn't the problem. It never was. If anything, he wanted more of her (and it made her love him just a bit more). No, it was him, giving her space. Giving her space, and waiting for her, being patient for her, adjusting for her… But she was done with it.

"And how do you want to do that?" she asked, hitting a teasing tone, sliding a finger along his sternum.

"Maybe, first of all, by seeing what you think about it after a good night's sleep," he said, his Adam's apple bobbling, his mouth getting dry, without doubt. She smirked; she loved how she could affect him.

"And if I still want to do it in the morning?"

He let out a laugh, pulling her close once again and kissing her.

"Then, my dear detective, I'll personally find a place for your creepy painting and hang it myself."

And so, it was settled.


End file.
